


Brother

by evilwriter37



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Emotional Recovery, M/M, Rape, Recovery, Stabbing, Trauma, brief child abuse (because Spitelout is an asshole), non-con dagcup, physical recovery, trauma for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Alternate ending to "A Time to Skrill." While captured by the Dragon Hunters, Hiccup is dragged away by Dagur, and the Riders are forced to hear what he does to him. In the aftermath of it, Hiccup isn't the only one left scarred.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a new fic. No, I'm not abandoning _Infernal Fascination_. I just have too many ideas in my head at once and have to write them.
> 
> As per usual with me, this fic is really dark. If you're not into this kind of content, don't read it. Reading something you dislike to give it hate is pointless and a waste of time. For those of you that do like this kind of stuff, please enjoy.

Hiccup was still busy trying to form an escape plan when Dagur grabbed him by the wrist. He glanced at him in surprise, stomach dropping when he saw the maniacal grin on his face.

“You’re coming with me, Hiccup.” He yanked him forward, away from his friends, who he’d felt relatively safe standing next to. There were protests from them, calls of his name, but Dagur had already pulled him out of their reach. He stumbled along after him, trying to pull his wrist free.

“Dagur, wait.” He somehow kept his voice even, though fear was running rampant. He was pretty sure he knew what the man wanted with him. He’d never been subtle about it.

Dagur acted as if he hadn't heard him, pulling him past Ryker - who wore an amused smirk - and a group of Dragon Hunters. He grabbed a rope from one of them.

Hiccup twisted his wrist, tried planting his foot and his prosthetic to remain in one place, but he couldn't get solid footing on the sand and was dragged forwards. Dagur tightened his grip and there was a slight crack. Hiccup cried out at the flare of pain and stopped struggling for the moment.

He pulled him behind one of the empty cages, threw him down onto the ground. He started to get up, but then there was a weight on top of him, shoving him back down.

“Dagur, stop!”

“You know how long I’ve wanted this, Hiccup? There's no way I'm stopping.”

As he spoke, there was a tugging sensation on the stump of his left leg, and then his prosthetic was pulled free. Hiccup gave a despairing cry at this, struggled underneath him. If he could just get Dagur _off_ of him…

He heard Dagur throw his prosthetic far away from them into the dark, and his hopes fell. He didn't stop struggling though. If he made himself hard to hold onto, he could get himself free. He tried to pinpoint where it sounded like his prosthetic had landed. To the right, he thought.

With a growl, Dagur slammed Hiccup’s face down into the ground with a hand in his hair. He yanked his head back up, letting blood trickle free from his nose, before slamming him down again.  
Hiccup stopped moving, stunned by the blow.

_Toothless. Gotta get Toothless,_ he thought as he laid there, dazed. But no, that wouldn't work. The Hunters had muzzled him and put him in a cage, along with the other dragons. The Skrill wouldn't be any help either. It couldn't channel lightning when it was in the water, and that's where they had put it.

“Dagur, _stop_ ,” he rasped out.

“Gotta get these stupid clothes off of you,” Dagur said, acting as if he hadn't heard him. “Don't move unless you want me to cut you.”

Hiccup wanted to cry as he felt the chief begin to tear away at his leather armor with a knife. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. This was _definitely_ not how he’d seen this night going. He was shaking, sick with terror, wishing he was anywhere but here.

Against his better judgment, Hiccup began struggling again. So what if he got cut? If he could get free, it would be worth it.

“Hiccup, stop moving!” Dagur grabbed at the back of his head with his free hand, shoving his face down into the sand.

Hiccup tried screaming, but it was muffled, sand getting in his mouth and nose. He coughed, attempted to inhale, but couldn't. He got his hands under him despite the pain in his left wrist, tried pushing himself up, but Dagur squeezed the sides of his skull till it hurt, just held him there. All of his attention was now on trying to breathe. He hardly noticed the feeling of his armor slipping off of him or the knife going to slice at his tunic.

_Oh gods, he's gonna kill me!_ he thought in a panic, lungs and throat burning. Granted, that might be better than what was coming, but the instinct to live overpowered everything else.

His head was suddenly released and he hurriedly sucked in air, coughing and choking. He spit sand out of his mouth, grateful to be breathing again. He used his newfound breath to scream. He knew no one was coming to help him, but he screamed anyway.

“Shut up!” Dagur shouted in obvious frustration.

“No! Get off of me!” Hiccup squirmed, which resulted in Dagur's knife slicing into his right forearm. He gave a pained yelp, didn't know if he'd hurt him purposefully or accidentally.

Despite his struggles, his tunic was sliced off of him, and he shivered at the touch of cold air.

“Don't worry,” Dagur said, yanking his hands behind his back. Hiccup tried to pull them free, but that hurt his left wrist, which he suspected might be fractured. “You’ll be nice and warm soon.”

Hiccup gave a wordless yell of protest, tears stinging in his eyes. “Get off of me! Get off!”

And Dagur did, but only after he'd finished tightly tying the rope around his wrists. He grabbed at the rope, used it to roll Hiccup over onto his back. Sand stung in the cut on his arm.

“Dagur, don't do this. _Please._ ” He looked up at him pleadingly. He’d never felt more helpless or vulnerable in his life.

“I’ll do what I want with you, Hiccup.” It was hard to see in the darkness, but Hiccup could feel him looking him over anyway. His skin crawled. “I wish there was more light so I could see you better.”

Hiccup had nothing to say to this. He tried taking deep breaths to quell his feeling of nausea, closed his eyes.

Then Dagur was on top of him again. The touch of his hands on his torso made him flinch, and he tried to draw away from it even though there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t help it - he screamed again. He’d never felt terror like this before.

Then something pressed against his lips, swallowing his scream and silencing him: Dagur’s mouth. His beard was uncomfortable against his skin, and his tongue dipped into his mouth before he could close it. Hiccup would have bitten him, but he feared the retaliation he would get. Instead he made muffled sounds of discontent and squirmed underneath him.

He jerked when one of Dagur’s hands went between his legs and squeezed at his member through his pants. He finally managed to twist his head away, giving a shout of shock and protest.

Dagur spoke with his lips pressed against his jaw. “What? You don’t like that?”

“ _Stop._ ” A sob clogged up his throat and he made a choking sound as he held it back.

“Mm, no.” He abruptly yanked his pants down, baring his length, and Hiccup gave an enraged and terrified cry. He struggled, tried to lift himself up, but Dagur pressed a hand to his chest and held him down. His other hand stroked circles over his stomach, moving down towards his pelvis, and Hiccup gasped in air so quickly and desperately that his belly sucked in. Despite that, he felt like he was suffocating. He moved his lips, tried again to tell Dagur to stop, but his voice was stuck in his throat.

It became unstuck when he grasped him, letting loose in a weak cry. Disgusted, violated, he tried to recede from his touch, but he only managed to shift a little. He was trapped with Dagur on top of him and his hand seemingly burning on his cock.

_Oh gods,_ no.

This was _not_ what Hiccup wanted. He’d never wanted this from Dagur, had never even wanted this from a _man_. He’d wanted this from Astrid, had been utterly sure that his first experience with it would be with her. Dagur was stealing that opportunity from her, from _him_.

“ _No!_ ” he shrieked, truly finding his voice again. “ _No-o! Stop!_ Get _off_ of me! Don’t _touch_ me!”

Dagur just laughed.

 

Snotlout was stunned silent as Dagur pulled Hiccup away from them. He’d called his name, but naturally it had done nothing, and reaching for him had only resulted in a sword pricking at his hand. Now he just stood with the rest of his friends, surrounded by armed Dragon Hunters, a sinking pit in his stomach.

“Dagur, stop!” The shout was Hiccup’s, hardly distant, very desperate. Then there was a cry from him, and Snotlout didn’t know if it was caused by pain or not. He looked between his friends, and they all wore the same expressions of wide-eyed horror. What were they supposed to do?

There were a few moments of silence, and then Dagur’s voice cut through the air, making him flinch.

“Hiccup, stop moving!”

_Come on, Hiccup, fight him. Fight him with everything you’ve got._

It was no mystery what Dagur was currently trying to do to Hiccup. The Berserker had never been subtle about what he wanted with him, and now he had his chance.

More silence. Snotlout didn’t know what he was waiting to hear, but he almost held his breath in terrified anticipation for it.

Hiccup started screaming, and it was a sound of pure terror. Toothless, in a cage nearby, growled, rammed his head against the door of the cage. The Riders looked frantically between each other, unsure of what to do.

“Ryker, make him stop it!” The shout was from Astrid - angry, desperate. There was a glint in her eyes and Snotlout suspected they were tears.

“Shut up!” Dagur again.

“No! Get off of me!” Hiccup.

Ryker _chuckled_. “You think I’m gonna stop that? It’s entertaining to listen to. I fancy I might even go watch.”

Snotlout felt like he was going to be sick. Hiccup screamed again. Then: “Get off of me! Get off!”

“You monster!” Snotlout shouted, stepping forward, hands clenched into fists. Swords went up, barring him from going any further. “You have to make Dagur stop! Now!”

Another scream came from Hiccup, but it was cut off.

“Oh really?” Ryker looked amused of all things. He looked between his men. “Get a load of this. The short one’s trying to tell me what to do.”

Snotlout bristled at the mention of his height. Toothless rammed himself against his cage. It did nothing. Hiccup shouted.

_Come on, Snotlout. Think._

“You think Viggo wants him damaged?” he questioned quickly. Viggo probably wanted Hiccup, maybe even the rest of them, alive, right? That was why Ryker was keeping them there, wasn’t it?

Ryker shrugged. “I doubt he’d care. Now shut up before I go over there and make you.”

“Come make me!” Snotlout wasn’t backing down. This was Hiccup that was in trouble.

Hiccup shrieked as Ryker stomped over to Snotlout:

“ _No-o! Stop!_ Get _off_ of me! Don’t _touch_ me!”

He had to crane his head back as he neared him. He shook, not with fear but with anger, anger at Dagur, anger at Ryker, anger at this whole situation.

Dagur laughed.

Ryker slapped him, so hard that he was stumbling backwards. He nearly fell, but Ruff and Tuff caught him, helping him stay on his feet.

“I’m more than twice the size of you, boy, so shut it.”

Astrid shouted wordlessly, a battle cry, and she rushed at the Dragon Hunters around them, fists raised. Fishlegs grabbed at her and yanked her back.

“Fishlegs, let go of me!”

“Astrid, you’re gonna run yourself through!”

“Let go!” She made to elbow him in the stomach, but paused when Ryker spoke again.

“I’d listen to your friend. My Hunters won’t hesitate to kill you.”

For a moment nobody moved. The only sounds were Toothless’ growls and his body hitting the bars of the cage, Astrid’s heaving breaths as she stared down Ryker. A ways away from them, sobbing started, loud and hysterical. Snotlout’s stomach twisted.

“I’m going to kill you.” Astrid said it with such coldness, such _conviction_ , that it didn’t even sound like her. Ryker only grunted, smirked, and went to resume his previous position. Hiccup continued crying.

 

Hiccup was dragged to his knees, the sand cold and coarse against his skin. He was completely naked now, his pants thrown somewhere away from him. He shook violently, more from terror than anything else. He couldn’t stop crying either. He wanted to stop, didn’t want to show such weakness to Dagur, but he couldn’t.

Dagur tugged on his hair, which he’d used to force him onto his knees, and it stung terribly.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

Hiccup didn’t want to, knew what he was planning on doing once he did.

“Open your mouth!”

He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, lips trembling. There was the sound of a knife being drawn, and then a blade rested against the side of his neck.

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

Hiccup didn’t want to die, didn’t know if Dagur really would kill him or cut deep enough to, but he didn’t want to chance it. He opened his mouth, all the while screaming inside his head.

“There’s a good boy.”

He sobbed as something went past his lips. He knew what it was, but he didn’t want to think about it. It was hard to stay in denial when Dagur moaned in pleasure. He sobbed again, then choked as Dagur shoved himself forward and down his throat. Hiccup gagged and struggled, wanted to bite him, but the knife against his neck made him decide not to.

“No, Hiccup, stay still. I gotta do this unless you _really_ want it to hurt when I get it in your ass.”

Hiccup tried to scream at this, but the sound hardly came out. His tears fell faster. This was _wrong_. He suddenly _did_ want to die. Maybe he should bite Dagur and chance that he would kill him.

_But no, Toothless. Dad, Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruff, Tuff. I can’t leave them. I can’t._

But he didn’t want this either, didn’t want what Dagur was going to do to him. He had had a very vague idea of what exactly he had in mind, but now he had told him, and he didn’t think he could handle it. Every inch of him was repulsed by the idea. Mortified. Dagur would be inside of him. Again. He already was inside of him, in his _mouth_ , his _throat_. He could _taste_ him.

Dagur rocked his hips, thrusting himself in and out of his mouth. He drooled, he sobbed, he gagged. He wanted it to end.

And eventually it did and he was left gasping and coughing. Dagur circled around him, trailed the knife around and down over his spine.

“ _Gods_ , Hiccup, imagine how stunning you would look in broad daylight.” Dagur laughed lightly. “Though I won’t have to imagine for long. I can fuck you again when the sun comes up.”

“Don’t!” He didn’t know where he mustered the strength to shout from. The point of the knife dug into his back, breaking skin and drawing blood, making him gasp. Then Dagur, using the hand that was buried in his hair, shoved his face down into the sand, though luckily not so he couldn’t breathe. He tried flattening himself to the ground, not liking how his ass was stuck up in the air, but Dagur let go of his hair and wrapped his arm around his lower abdomen to keep him up and on his knees.

“Move from this position and your arm won’t be the only thing that’s bleeding,” Dagur warned.

Hiccup no longer cared about that. He had to get away. Now. He kicked out at him, and Dagur lost his grip on him as he toppled over. Hiccup threw himself forward and into the sand, tried crawling as best as he could without the use of his arms, using his shoulders instead. He realized how stupid of an idea that had been right before Dagur jumped on him. His knife dug into his right side, and he managed to let loose a pained scream before his other hand closed around his throat.

“What did I just say, Hiccup?!” He twisted the knife; all he could manage was a squeak. It wasn’t dangerously deep, but it was excruciating, and so was the way Dagur pressed his body against him, putting pressure on his injured wrist and arm. There was another part of Dagur against him too, hard and hot, slick with his own saliva, and big. Oh gods, he was big. This was really going to hurt.

Hiccup wailed when Dagur let him breathe, letting out his pain, his dread. Dagur didn’t remove the knife from him, a clear sign for him to not move. He shoved his free hand between them, groping between the cheeks of his ass, and Hiccup decided there was no reason to stop screaming.

 

Snotlout heard Dagur yell for Hiccup to open his mouth, and he cringed when the crying stopped. It was all too obvious what he was doing to him.

Toothless had stopped ramming himself against the cage, and Snotlout’s heart sank. If Hiccup’s _dragon_ was giving up, maybe they should too. The Riders couldn’t talk to each other and plan an escape, couldn’t hope to escape when they were surrounded by men with swords and axes and Ryker was watching them like a hawk. He wondered about his dad. He hadn’t been captured with them, was still out there somewhere, possibly close by, planning a way to get them free. Snotlout also wondered about the other dragons, about Hookfang. They were being held somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t see, and he hoped to the gods they were still alive. He couldn’t lose Hookfang, and especially not on the same night that he was losing Hiccup.

Though, it was made clear that they hadn’t lost Hiccup yet:

“Don’t!”

_Come on! Fight him!_ Granted, there probably wasn’t much fighting Hiccup could do. Dagur had probably taken his prosthetic from him, and he’d grabbed a rope. And sure, Dagur was shorter, but he had more body mass, more muscle. Deep down, he knew Hiccup didn’t stand a chance against him, but he didn’t want to think that.

Dagur shouted something unintelligible, and Hiccup screamed again. And again. He didn’t stop.

_Oh gods! No, no, no!_ Snotlout felt something wet on his face, knew they were tears but didn’t know when they had formed.

“Ryker, you have to stop this!” Fishlegs suddenly shouted. “Stop it now!”

“Ever tried getting between a dragon and its meal?” Ryker asked.

“Oh you did _not_ just compare Hiccup to food!” Ruffnut yelled.

“I mean, his surname is Haddock, isn’t it?” He said it as if he was telling a joke, as if the very person they were talking about wasn’t screaming like he was being torn apart. He laughed at it too.

Snotlout wanted to punch him. No, scratch that. He wanted to _kill_ him. How could someone let this happen to another human being? How could someone _laugh_ at it?

“ _Argh!_ When I get my hands on you I’m going to rip your head off!” That was Tuffnut, standing beside him. Clearly the others were feeling murderous as well.

“You can try, chicken-boy.”

Tuffnut roared at him, stepped forward. Snotlout grabbed at his wrist to keep him back, gave him a warning look. There was already a bruise forming on his face where Ryker had hit him, and he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.

“ _No no no no no!_ ” The words came quickly from Hiccup’s mouth, desperately. And then he shrieked, somehow louder than all the other times he had before. Snotlout and the rest of the Dragon Riders visibly flinched. Toothless lowed mournfully from his cage.

No one did anything for the next minute or so. They couldn’t. They just listened and cried.

Then words broke into Hiccup’s screams, something Snotlout thought he’d never hear from his cousin: begging.

“Please stop! _Please! Ple-ea-ease!_ It hurts! _Stop it!_ ”

_‘It hurts.’_ Snotlout felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He knew Hiccup was being hurt, but to hear him say it, no, _scream_ it was surely worse than any blow that could be taken in battle.

“Stop! It hurts! It _hurts!_ Please, Dagur! _Please!_ ” And Hiccup kept on like that. Snotlout wanted to block his ears.

_No, Hiccup, please stop._ He preferred his wordless shouts over this begging and admittance of pain. Each word felt like a knife to the chest.

Movement from Toothless’ cage caught his eye. He looked towards it, saw the dragon wrestling with his muzzle, and after a few moments, he began to successfully slide it off. It was slow going though, and someone would be bound to notice him.

_Unless they’re distracted._

“Ryker, you great, big goat-kisser!” Snotlout shouted. He knew there was no point at yelling for him to stop the atrocity that was happening to Hiccup, so he’d just insult him instead. Hopefully the others would pick up on what he was doing.

“What did you just call me?!”

“You know what I called you, goat-kisser!”

“I hope Thor roasts your pathetic ass with lightning!” Astrid added in, clearly understanding what Snotlout was doing.

“And that Loki pranks you into next Tyr’s Day!” Ruffnut shouted.

“And I’ll be there next Tyr’s Day to set Chicken on you and have her peck your eyes out!” Tuffnut yelled.

“I don’t even think my dragon would eat you, and she eats rocks!” Fishlegs joined in.

Soon, they were all shouting insults, and Ryker looked like he was growing angrier by the second. Despite all the noise, Snotlout could hear that Hiccup’s torment hadn’t stopped.

“ _Shut it!_ ” Ryker made his way over to them and drew one of his swords. It was knocked out of his hand by a plasma blast that split the darkness with purple light. Then one struck the man closest to Snotlout. He acted fast as he went down, grabbing for his weapon. Toothless kept shooting, and the Dragon Riders attacked.

 

Hiccup had never hated anything so intensely before. He thought he had hated losing the trust of his father, the entire village, thought he had hated losing part of his left leg, but he hated this more. And even more than that, burning uselessly in his veins, he hated Dagur.

He thrusted viciously into him without a care to how he felt, without a care to how many times he’d said no and told him to stop. He kept shouting it anyway though. He _had_ to, clinging to some desperate hope that he would _listen_ to him, that he would _stop_.

But Dagur didn’t stop. He held him down with a hand pressed on his back, the other keeping the knife in his side, his hips driving him into agony’s scorching embrace. He grunted, cursed, and moaned as he used his body for his own enjoyment. Hiccup wanted to block his ears.

And every once in a while Dagur would strike something inside of him that felt good, so good it almost served to combat the pain, but the pleasure would dissipate into burning until once again called upon by a well-placed thrust. Hiccup hated it more than the pain, would rather just have that.

Eventually he gave up on begging, just screamed and cried wordlessly instead. His own voice began to scrape against the insides of his throat, going hoarse, but he couldn’t hope to quiet himself. He couldn’t tell if he was physically being torn apart, or if it was just his mind.

There was suddenly shouting a ways away from them, clangs of metal. His friends were escaping. They had to be.

_Yes! Hurry up! Come save me!_

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Dagur cursed from atop him, and it was both an exclamation of pleasure and upset. “Your friends ruin everything, don’t they?”

“P-please, Dagur! Stop it!” Hiccup would have struggled save for the knife in his side.

If it was possible, Dagur was thrusting into him harder now, growing frantic. The sounds of fighting continued.

“Hold on, Hiccup. Almost there, baby. Almost there.”

“ _No!_ ” He didn’t want Dagur to complete the act. Disgust curled his stomach at the thought of it, at the thought of Dagur finishing inside of him or even on him. Part of him wished for the knife to be pushed deeper, for it to end his life.

“ _Hiccup!_ Oh _gods!_ ” A hot liquid emptied into him at the shout, mixed with his blood, and Dagur’s pounding finally slowed, then eventually stopped. He didn’t leave him, though the fighting sounded like it had grown more intense. Hiccup gasped for breath, had to swallow back bile. Dagur was silent, just trying to catch his breath. Hiccup wanted to sink into the sand and never resurface. It was finished.

“Shit, that was good.” Dagur finally pulled out of him, and Hiccup cringed at the sensation. He gave a cry as the knife was torn from his side. His relief didn’t last long, as he soon felt the point on his back between his shoulder blades.

“D-Dagur, what are you doing?!”

“Just leaving a little something for you to remember me by before I have to go.” Then he pierced him and Hiccup screamed hoarsely, continued screaming as he drew the knife downwards, then up and to the right in a diagonal line, then back down. He finished the rune by connecting the starting and ending points, carving through already sliced flesh. Hiccup would have struggled, but it would only serve to cause him more pain.

Dagur pulled the knife from him, quickly leaned down and pressed his lips to the wound in a kiss that jolted him through with fire.

“Gotta go, brother.” Hiccup wanted to be sick at being called that after what had been done to him. This wasn’t something you did to your _“brother”_. “Thanks for the good time.”

Then Dagur stood off of him, and he felt like he could breathe a little easier. He used that breath to sob wildly, pathetically. The only thing that consoled him was the sound of Dagur’s hurried, retreating footsteps. It was over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief child abuse in this chapter because Spitelout is an asshole.

It didn’t take long for his friends to find him. Hiccup figured it was due to the sounds he was making and couldn’t seem to stop making no matter how he wanted to: broken wails and sobs that shook his whole body and only served to make him hurt more. He realized he’d been found when he heard running footsteps and then a number of gasps. He very suddenly wanted to die once again. They were _seeing_ him, seeing him bound and bloodied and crying like a child.

Then he felt a familiar nose nuzzling at his face, and he opened his eyes to see Toothless’ green ones, looking at him with the utmost concern. His will to live came back to him. He couldn’t die when he had Toothless here with him.

“T-Toothless!” Hiccup wanted to reach out for him, but he couldn’t, the rope still tight around his wrists.

“Hiccup, oh gods.” Astrid’s voice was filled with horror. She knelt down beside him. Burying himself in the sand didn’t seem like such a bad idea at the moment. Shame and embarrassment heated his cheeks. He was _naked_. His friends were seeing him naked, were seeing what Dagur had done to him. They knew.

She began to untie the rope around his wrists. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner! I’m so sorry!”

Astrid was crying, and the sound of it only added onto his pain. He drew in heaving breaths, trying to stop his own crying, but the tears kept coming. Good gods, they _knew_. They _knew_ what Dagur had done to him. They’d probably even heard it.

“N-not your fault,” he quickly assured her, assured all of them. “Not y-your fault.”

The rope was pulled off of him, and he realized he didn’t know what to do with his arms. He wouldn’t get up. That would just reveal more of himself to his friends. He didn’t even know if he _could_ get up. There was pain _inside_ of him, burning and throbbing relentlessly. He just let his arms flop to his sides. Toothless nuzzled at his right hand, and he brought it up to touch his snout. The familiar feeling of his scales provided a slight comfort.

“Guys, go get your dragons.” There was a tone of command in Astrid’s voice. “And Snotlout, try to find your dad.”

_No!_ Hiccup nearly shouted it out loud. He didn’t want anyone else seeing him like this, and especially not Spitelout. He’d probably think that he hadn’t fought, that he’d let it happen to him.

The others dispersed, but Astrid and Toothless stayed. Hiccup didn’t know what to do. He wanted to just find his clothes and dress himself, but they weren’t even in one piece anymore. And where was his prosthetic?

“Hiccup, where are you bleeding from?” Astrid’s voice sounded detached, like she’d suddenly erased all her emotions.

“R-right arm,” he began to answer. “Right side. H-he stabbed me. M-my back and…” He couldn’t possibly say the last part, but hopefully he didn’t have to. The blood trickling down the backs of his thighs was all too obvious. He hated the one on his back too. D. That’s what Dagur had carved into him. It was his initial. He’d claimed him in yet another way.

And then he’d called him “brother.” _Brother._ As if he _cared_ for him, as if he hadn’t completely desecrated his body. It only added to the feeling of sickness churning in his stomach.

“Where are your clothes?”

“D-doesn’t matter,” Hiccup answered breathlessly. “He t-tore them.”

“I was going to use them to dress your wounds,” Astrid explained.

_Dressing my wounds and not me._ The thought was dry, and Hiccup found himself laughing at it for some reason. Or maybe his crying had started again in full force. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t care enough to figure it out.

A hand on his shoulder. “Hiccup, take a deep breath.”

He couldn’t. He just kept laughing… or crying. Toothless warbled and pressed his head hard against his hand, clearly distressed.

As he laughed he began to shiver, cold due to being exposed, cold in the absence of Dagur’s oppressive body heat. Earlier it had been all over him, _in_ him, crushing and suffocating and burning, and he felt oddly empty without it. Now he had nothing but the heat of his own blood sliding over his chilled skin.

Astrid took her hand off his shoulder, and he sensed her rise.

“Toothless, I need light.”

“ _No._ ” He didn’t want Toothless to leave him, and having light would only make it clearer what had happened. He wanted to remain in the dark, wanted his hand to stay on Toothless and never leave.

But, despite his protest, Toothless moved away from him. Now he was sure he was crying rather than laughing. He just wanted his dragon.

Hiccup closed his eyes as Toothless opened his mouth and let out a low flame. He didn’t want to see Astrid, see her expression when she truly saw him. He heard an unevenness in her breathing, as if she was holding in a gasp. Then he sensed her moving around, picking up the shredded pieces of his clothing. He wished that his clothes had stayed in one piece, that he could just wear them and cover himself. He wished he wasn’t bleeding. He wished this hadn’t _happened_.

Then Astrid came back over, knelt by him again. “Hiccup, I’m gonna help you up.”

He wanted to protest, but he didn’t. He just sobbed as Astrid took him under the arms and maneuvered him into her lap with his back against her. The movement hurt and he kicked his legs a little, uselessly churning the sand. He didn’t like the way her clothing felt against his naked skin. It just drove home the fact that she was dressed and he was not. Then there was the matter of his blood getting on her.

Toothless came over, and Hiccup was quick to reach out for him, blood dripping from his right arm as he raised it. The dragon rested his head against his hands, and Hiccup could see the purple light streaming from his mouth through his eyelids. Astrid began to wrap a piece of fabric that used to be from his tunic around his torso, covering the knife wound in his side. She tied it off rather tightly and Hiccup winced, tightened his hold on Toothless. She began to tie another strip higher, to bandage the wound on his back.

“What’d he do to your back?” she asked.

Hiccup just clenched his jaw and shook his head. If she couldn’t make out what Dagur had carved into him, then he certainly wasn’t going to tell her. He didn’t want her to know about it. She already knew too much about what had happened.

Thankfully, Astrid didn’t press him further on it. She just asked if she could see his right arm, and he reluctantly obliged, unhappy to be losing a bit of contact with Toothless.

The both of them were silent after those wounds were bandaged. Hiccup had somehow stopped crying, his tears drying on his face amidst grains of sand, creating a crust on his skin.

“I don’t know what to do about-”

“It’ll stop bleeding on its own.” Hiccup was quick to cut her off. He didn’t want her mentioning the other place he was bleeding from. He felt like crying again at the thought of it, though he doubted he had any tears left.

“What do you want us to do about the Skrill?” Astrid asked softly.

Hiccup nearly groaned. Right. The Skrill. The reason they had come here.

“L-let it go.” It seemed wrong to trap it again. It was already trapped. Weren’t they here to rescue it, not to replace its cage?

“Are you sure?” Astrid’s hands were stroking carefully over his shoulders. It was a comforting gesture. Her hands were so different from Dagur’s, small and gentle and obviously belonging to a woman. Hiccup had never wanted to be touched by a man in the ways Dagur had touched him, but now he had, and there was no going back from it, no erasing it. He wanted to burn off his skin. The gentleness of Astrid’s touch seemed to make the memory of Dagur’s worse by contrast. Had he not already been shivering, he would have started.

“Y-yeah. Doesn’t deserve a cage.”

“How do you know it won’t kill us?”

“I don’t,” Hiccup answered, and really, he was okay with that. The will to live, to keep going, was fleeing from him again. So what if he died? If he died he wouldn’t have to face anyone else, wouldn’t have to face his _dad_. Oh gods, what was he going to think? Would he shame him? Tell him that he was weak and that’s why this had happened to him? 

His breathing, which had mostly evened out, became quick again, panicked, making his stab wound burn more intensely. Toothless pressed his snout to his forehead while Astrid said:

“Hiccup, calm down. You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay. Shh…”

“M-my dad,” he got out. “Wh-what’s he gonna think? Gods, what’s he- what’s he gonna think?”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Astrid hadn’t ceased stroking his shoulders in a soothing motion. 

“B-but…” He couldn’t finish, didn’t even know what he’d planned on saying. He felt like he was going to start crying again. He brought his arms up, cradled Toothless’ head against his own. Then he gasped out: “Cl-clothes. I-I want clothes.”

“I have a blanket in Stormfly’s saddlebag,” Astrid told him. “We’ll wrap you in that, okay?”

Hiccup wanted to tell her that it wasn’t good enough, that he wanted pants, a tunic, wanted to actually be fully, decently covered, but Dagur had destroyed his clothes and left him with nothing. He hadn’t cared about the aftermath of what’d he’d done, hadn’t cared about how Hiccup would be once he was finished using him. He hadn’t cared at all, had wanted nothing but to use him for his own pleasure.

That made Hiccup start thinking about the other substance that had been in him, but was probably leaking out along with his blood, was probably on Astrid now too. Dagur’s… He had to swallow back bile in his throat, very suddenly feeling nauseas. Dagur had been _inside_ of him, inside of his _body_ \- _Dagur_. He sobbed again, but there were no tears to accompany it. He knew that there would be no tears from him for the rest of the night, only sobs hoping to produce them. He didn’t have any tears left. He’d cried them all for Dagur, and he’d probably liked it.

 

Snotlout was relieved to have found Hookfang alive and unharmed, but it didn’t do much to combat the twisting of his stomach, the worry and dread that seemed to pull on his limbs. His friends had found their dragons as well and were going back to Hiccup, leaving him alone in the search for his dad. In the dark, mind on Hiccup, he nearly collided with him.

“Boyo! Where the Hel have you been?” He had his axe out, the blade stained with blood.

“Where the Hel have I-?” Snotlout was cut off by his own fury growing inside of him. He clenched his fists. “Where the Hel have _you_ been?! We needed you!”

“Don’t shout at me, son,” he ordered. “You apparently didn’t need me. You seem to be doing just fine all on your own.” He lifted his axe, seeming to admire the blood on it. “Was just taking out some Dragon Hunters, but the cowards retreated. Too bad. I was-”

“Dad!” Snotlout interrupted him. There was no time for this right now. They had to get Hiccup back to Berk, had to get him help. “The rest of us are fine, but Hiccup…” He found himself choking up, and he hated that it was in front of his father. “Hiccup’s not.”

Spitelout lowered his axe, a little bit of shock in his eyes. “What happened to ’im?”

“He… Dagur…” He didn’t know how to tell him. He didn’t want to.

Spitelout suddenly grabbed him by one shoulder, shook him hard. “Spit it out, Snotlout!”

“Dagur raped him!” he suddenly yelled. Better he tell his dad than Hiccup. Who knew how he was going to react to it? He watched his dad’s face, waited for it.

Spitelout simply looked confused. He withdrew his hand from his shoulder. “Son, men can’t be raped.”

Snotlout had never really wanted to hit his father before, but he did now. “Yes, they - _we_ \- can! And Dagur did it to Hiccup while you were off on your lunatic killing spree instead of helping us!”

Spitelout was quiet for a moment. Then he asked: “Did he fight him?”

“What?” Snotlout hadn’t been expecting the question.

“Did Hiccup fight him?”

“Yes, he fought him!” Snotlout shrieked. “I heard the whole thing happen! And now he’s bleeding everywhere because he did!” Snotlout hadn’t gotten a very good look at Hiccup upon finding him, but it had been clear there was blood on him, on his back, his side, going down the backs of his legs. It sickened him to think about where the blood on his legs was coming from, how it had gotten there.

Spitelout suddenly slapped him in the face, though luckily not in the same place that Ryker had hit him. Hookfang growled a little, but didn’t take action. He’d seen this happen before.

“I told you not to shout at me!”

Snotlout didn’t feel anger at the blow. His father _had_ told him not to shout at him, and he’d done it anyway. He’d invited him to strike him.

“Sorry, dad,” he mumbled. He would have rubbed at his cheek, but that would be a sign of weakness, and maybe an invitation for another blow. “But look, we’re wasting time. Hiccup needs to be taken back to Berk.”

“And what about the Skrill?”

Snotlout hadn’t thought about the Skrill, had forgotten all about it in the wake of Hiccup’s suffering. 

“I don’t know. Let’s go. We’ll figure it out with everyone else.”

Snotlout turned and began walking back in the direction he’d come from, back towards where Hiccup had been bleeding in the sand. His cheek burned.

 

There were good and bad things about Hiccup’s friends returning with their dragons. The bad: they’d see him. The good: the blanket that Astrid had taken from Stormfly’s saddlebag and carefully wrapped around him. He clutched it to himself with his right hand. It hurt his wrist to move the fingers on his left. And once the blanket had been put on him Astrid had taken him back into her lap. They hadn’t found his prosthetic, and even with it he couldn’t stand anyway.

Then he realized that he couldn’t fly Toothless, and he began to worry about him being left behind.

“I can’t fly Toothless,” he said hoarsely, breaking the silence. His friends hadn’t said a word, which he was grateful for. He didn’t want to bring up what had happened, what he was still bleeding and aching from.

“I’ll fly him,” Astrid told him. “Someone’s going to have to carry you though, aren’t they?”

Hiccup wanted to argue, to say that he could sit on a dragon just fine, but that would be a lie. He knew he couldn’t. Instead he just nodded.

“I can carry you, Hiccup,” Fishlegs volunteered.

Hiccup only nodded again. He trusted all of his friends, but he’d been friends with Fishlegs the longest, and despite his size, he was the most gentle out of all of them. 

Astrid took ahold of the blanket and panic burst inside of him.

“Astrid, what are you doing?!” He kicked out his right leg, stirring the sand, trying to shift away.

“Hiccup, I’m just going to check on your side.” Her voice was gentle. “I think you bled all the way through.”

“O-okay.” Reluctantly, terrified, Hiccup let go of the blanket, let Astrid pull it away from him and expose him, though luckily his bottom half remained covered. He shivered at the touch of cold air, at being _seen_ again. 

“What happened to your side?” Tuffnut asked a little quietly, clearly hesitant about the question.

“D-Dagur stabbed me,” Hiccup told him. Then he lowered his head to watch as Astrid slipped the makeshift bandage down under his wound, and blood began to flow faster in the absence of it. It hadn’t slowed and come close to stopping like his other wounds had, was still trickling quite furiously from him. He suddenly felt lightheaded, and the nausea returned. “I-it’s not stopping,” he said, though it was abundantly clear to anyone who was looking. “Oh Thor, it’s not stopping.”

“We’re going to have to cauterize it,” Astrid said, her voice having grown detached once again.

“What? N-no.” Hiccup shifted weakly, but that just made pain stab through him and steal his breath. He sagged against Astrid, panting, feeling dizzy for having moved. Then he felt a large hand on his shoulder, and he would have flinched at it if he had been strong enough to. He looked to see Fishlegs leaning over him, a concerned, but gentle look on his face.

“Hiccup, you’re not going to make it to Berk bleeding like that,” Fishlegs told him. He hadn’t said it, but Hiccup knew that he was telling him that he’d die before he reached home unless they did this. Part of him was okay with that. Part of him wanted to die.

He shoved that away, willing himself to actually want to survive, to live through this. “Okay.”

Then he heard footsteps approaching, two sets belonging to people, and the other set larger, belonging to a dragon. Snotlout emerged from the darkness with Hookfang and his dad. Something in Snotlout looked subdued, but concern came sparking back into his eyes when he saw Hiccup, and Hiccup wished he had the blanket completely wrapped around him. His gaze darted over to Spitelout. Had Snotlout told him? How had he reacted? What was he thinking?

“Snotlout, have Hookfang flame up,” Astrid said in place of a greeting. “We’re going to need light for this.”

“For what?” Snotlout asked, tapping Hookfang twice on the side. The dragon burst into flame, coating them all in a ring of light. Hiccup tried to shrink back into Astrid. They’d see him better now, and he didn’t want that.

“Hiccup’s side won’t stop bleeding,” Ruffnut explained. She drew her knife and Hiccup shuddered at the sound of it, fear pooling like ice water in his stomach. He didn’t want more pain, and all the sound could make him think of was the way Dagur had used his knife on him, how he’d shredded his clothes to pieces to get him vulnerable and naked, how he’d slashed his arm, how he’d stabbed him and twisted, and then finally how he’d carved his own initial into his back. “We have to cauterize it.” She walked over to Snotlout, handed him the knife. “Hookfang would be the best to heat this.”

Hiccup couldn’t draw his eyes away as Snotlout took the knife, as he held it out to Hookfang and told him to give him a low flame. He found himself tightly clutching at something with his right hand, and it took him a few moments to realize that it was Astrid’s hand, that he was seeking comfort from her. He hoped that he wasn’t holding her tight enough to hurt, but he couldn’t get his fingers to loosen their grip. 

Then the blade was glowing orange with heat, but no one did anything. The Dragon Riders all looked uneasily between each other, silently asking who was going to do it. For long moments nothing happened and no one spoke, but then suddenly Spitelout grabbed the knife from Snotlout.

“Give me that. You’re all just letting him bleed out standing here like a bunch of wimps.” 

Hiccup seized up as Spitelout lumbered over to him. He didn’t want him to do it. He wasn’t gentle, wasn’t one of his friends, but Fishlegs stepped aside to let him by. Hiccup felt so small, like Spitelout was towering over him. His gaze went to the glowing knife in his hand, and that hand became Dagur’s, and when he looked back to his face he was met with green eyes, scars and tattoos, a maniacal grin.

“ _No!_ ” He thrashed against Astrid, but one of her arms wrapped around his waist to hold him still, to trap him. “ _No-o!_ Get away from me!” He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at Dagur anymore. 

“Hiccup, stop moving!” He thought that maybe Astrid had cried it, but he wasn’t sure. It quickly became Dagur’s voice in his memory. He’d yelled the same thing at him, had wanted him to stop moving so he could have his way with him. 

Hiccup didn’t want to stop moving, stop fighting, but he did, too weak and in pain to continue. He rested his head back against Astrid’s shoulder, gasping for air, confused. Why was Astrid holding him down so Dagur could hurt him? Why would she betray him like that?

Then the blade was on his wound, searing away his thoughts. He screamed, the sound tearing at his already raw throat. Then thought returned, but only the silent pleading for this to stop, for the pain to go away. Very suddenly, it did, and Hiccup was left with nothing but darkness and the horrid memories of Dagur calling him his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found some free time to write this, and I’m thinking it turned out really good. Also, I wholeheartedly apologize for the awfulness that is Dagur’s perspective, but I don’t control this guy. I also don’t control Ryker, so awful things were said.

Hiccup went limp in Astrid’s arms, head lolling down so that his chin rested against his chest. Spitelout stepped away, knife still glowing a little.

“Astrid, did that do it?” Fishlegs asked, peering at Hiccup. It was hard to tell when there was so much blood on him. It twisted his stomach.

Astrid carefully maneuvered a hand and touched it to the wound, then looked at her fingers. “Yeah, bleeding stopped.” There was a lack of emotion in her voice, and Fishlegs knew that she was trying to draw herself away from the situation in order to handle it. He wished he had the ability to do the same, to stave off his emotions till later, but they thrashed around inside of him, threatening to be released as tears. He’d cried already, when they’d had no choice but to listen to what was happening to Hiccup, listen to his screams and useless begging. He felt like that was just going to echo around in his head forever.

“Good.” Fishlegs wiped at his face, then leaned down and took Hiccup gently from Astrid after she rewrapped the blanket around him. There was drying blood all over the front of her body. And something else too, a small bit of a white-ish substance that made him feel like he was going to be sick. He quickly looked away from it and headed over to Meatlug. She’d laid down to make it easier for Fishlegs to get on while holding Hiccup.

“What are we going to do about the Skrill?” Snotlout asked after Fishlegs mounted and situated Hiccup carefully across his lap.

“Hiccup said he wants to set it free,” Astrid answered. She looked down at herself, frowning deeply. Next she looked at her hands - those were bloody too - and the frown stayed.

“Well that’s ridiculous,” Spitelout said. “Didn’t it try killing all of us? How do we know it’s not going to try to after we let it out of its cage?”

“Maybe it’ll be grateful and just leave us in peace?” Fishlegs piped in. That’s what he was hoping for. He glanced down at Hiccup. If only he was awake to give them his reasoning, but Fishlegs figured there was some good with him being unconscious. He wouldn’t feel pain in unconsciousness. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t, hoped that his pain had disappeared with the waking world. 

Thinking about Hiccup being in pain, his screams of it hurting came to the forefront of his mind, like he was hearing it all over again.

“Eh, if it kills us, at least it’ll be a pretty spectacular way to go,” Tuffnut said with a shrug, though his words lacked the usual amusement that he strangely had when talking about death.

“Yeah, come on. Let’s just let it out and see what happens,” Ruffnut said. “If we die we die.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.” Spitelout didn’t sound the least bit happy. “You kids are crazy. But fine, we’ll let it go.”

They headed back over to the shore, stepping around discarded weapons and even a few Hunters that would never move again. Fishlegs found himself with a dark regret that none of the bodies were Ryker’s, that the man who had let this happen to Hiccup and who had joked about it was still alive. A thought like that scared him; it was so unlike him to think and feel such things, to actually want someone dead, but he did. More than wanting Ryker dead, he wanted Dagur dead. He felt like he wouldn’t even hesitate to take his life if he saw him again. The way Hiccup had screamed and shouted, telling him no, begging for him to stop… He deserved to die, but admitting that made Fishlegs feel unsettled and disturbed with himself.

The Skrill sat silently in its cage that was partially submerged in the water, watching them with suspicion. They stopped a few feet away from it, obviously not sure who was going to let it out. Had Hiccup been awake and unharmed, it would have been him.

Finally, Astrid stepped forward, carefully. The Skrill’s gaze shot to her as she moved towards the cage.

“I’m gonna let you out,” she told it. “Okay? We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to let you go free.” She stepped into the water and her hand landed on the latch. “We’re sorry this happened to you. Hiccup-” She looked back towards Fishlegs, towards the unconscious form in his lap. “Hiccup didn’t mean for this to happen.” She undid the latch and the Skrill raised its head in surprise. It then tilted its head and shuffled backwards as Astrid fought against the water and pulled open the door. Then she didn’t move and neither did the Skrill, both waiting cautiously, unsure of what the other was going to do.

“It’s okay. You’re free,” she coaxed.

Tentatively, the Skrill stepped out of the cage. It looked around at all of them, snarled a little when it saw Toothless. But then it looked confused, probably as to why Toothless was on his own. It had only ever seen him with Hiccup. Then it looked to Fishlegs, and he shrank down a little, tightened his hold on Hiccup. He just wanted the dragon to leave in peace.

Then suddenly, the Skrill was stalking right up to him. Meatlug growled, got into a defensive position.

“No, hold on, girl.” Fishlegs was frightened of this dragon, but he didn’t think it had any wish to harm them. It merely seemed curious. 

Meatlug looked at him questioningly, but then relaxed her stance. The Skrill, which had stopped its advance, came the rest of the way over. Fishlegs’ heart was pounding like a hammer against the inside of his chest. The dragon completely ignored him, eyes on Hiccup. Even though it didn’t seem hostile, that frightened Fishlegs to no end. His friend was hurt and had no means of defending himself. It was entirely up to him. He had to-

The Skrill leaned its head down and sniffed, the air from it ruffling Hiccup’s hair a bit. Then it made a sound that was akin to one of mourning before bowing its head and backing away. Then there was a blinding flash of white-blue electricity streaking down from the sky and a boom, and when Fishlegs’ vision cleared and the afterimage of the lightning finally faded, the Skrill was gone.

“Okay, what was that about?” Ruffnut asked after a few moments in silence. “I thought it would be pissed.”

“The Skrill heard… it heard it too,” Fishlegs realized. “It knows that Hiccup… was hurt.” He didn’t know any other way to say it, though just saying he was hurt felt like an understatement of what had happened to him. “And so it had mercy.” He looked down at Hiccup’s face. It was slack and expressionless, no sign of any pain or dreams. And pale. Even in the dark he could tell how pale he was. “Now let’s get him back to Berk.”

 

Stoick had not been expecting this. He’d expected Hiccup to come flying back home with his friends, tired but alright, telling him of what had happened. He hadn’t expected him to be delivered to him bloodied and unconscious. He’d known something was wrong the instant he had spotted Astrid flying Toothless, and the pit of dread in his stomach had deepened and spread outward to his limbs in barely suppressed tremors when he saw the bundle in Fishlegs’ arms. 

His first thought had been that he was dead, but the Dragon Riders had quickly assured him that he wasn’t, and when he’d checked for himself Hiccup had been breathing. He was awfully confused though, awfully worried. What had happened to him? And why weren’t his friends, who were gathered in his house, telling him anything? Hiccup had been put in his bed and Spitelout had gone to get Gothi. The Dragon Riders had begged him not to take the blanket off of him, and so, despite his terrible curiosity, he hadn’t. But now he wanted answers, and they weren’t giving him any.

“You have to tell me what happened to him!” Stoick demanded. “You can’t just bring him back like this and not tell me anything!” He looked them over, trying to piece it together. They looked worn, possibly like they’d been in battle, though Astrid was almost the only one with blood on her. There were flakes of it on Fishlegs, but not a lot. “Hiccup was hurt in battle wasn’t he? Why are you all making it out like some big secret? Where’s he hurt?”

“It’s not… that simple,” Astrid finally said, and there was pain in her voice.

“Well then explain it to me or I’ll go and pull the blanket off him and figure it out myself.” Stoick wasn’t sure why they’d been so insistent that the blanket stay there. He felt like they were trying to hide something from him.

“Wait, no!” Snotlout cried. “Just give us a minute, okay? It’s… um…” He broke away from Stoick’s gaze. There was a large, black and blue bruise on his face, his cheek swelling with it.

“Dagur,” Fishlegs said forlornly. Stoick waited for an explanation, but that was it.

“Yes? And what did Dagur do?” Stoick’s hands clenched into fists. At least now he knew who did it, knew who had to kill when he got a chance. 

The Dragon Riders looked between each other, all looking vastly uncomfortable. It just made Stoick’s curiosity spike, made the dread deepen a little. What had that man done to his son? How could it be so bad that no one wanted to tell him what it was?

“He…” Astrid began. She looked down at her bloodied hands. “He…” She said something else afterwards, but it was mumbled, incoherent.

“Speak up, lass. I can’t hear you.”

There was a moment of silence, but then Astrid looked up at him. He was startled by the tears in her eyes.

“He raped him.”

Stoick most definitely hadn’t expected that. Men couldn’t… Well, they could, but that wasn’t something that… It was only something he’d heard about… Not his own son… Other people, not his… Not Hiccup…

“What?” It slipped out of him without his say in the matter, quiet, and Stoick hoped that Astrid wouldn’t think that he hadn’t heard. He didn’t want her to have to repeat herself, or for one of the other Riders to say it. No wonder they hadn’t wanted to say anything. “He…” He couldn’t continue, didn’t even know what he was going to say. His tongue felt limp and useless, and he didn’t even know he’d made to sit until he felt the hard surface of the chair underneath him. “Odin…” _help me._

“We tried to stop him,” Ruffnut said. “There wasn’t much, or, anything we could do.” Her words held the threat of tears, and Stoick had to put a hand over his face to hide his own. He was the chief. He couldn’t cry. But Hiccup… How could this have happened to him? 

Silence. Stoick wanted to say something else, to let the Dragon Riders know that he didn’t blame them, but his mouth wouldn’t open, and his head wouldn’t lift to look at them. How could he blame them when they seemed just as heartbroken as he was? And he knew how loyal they were to Hiccup. If there had been a way to prevent it, they would have found it. 

“Chief…?” Snotlout prodded gently after a time.

Stoick found it in himself to look up, lower his hand. “You should…” He still didn’t know what to say. Horror and disbelief were working together to swallow his words before they could reach his tongue. “You should all get some rest. Don’t tell anyone about what happened.”

Astrid looked herself over, obviously wondering how she would explain all the blood. It added to the growing pain in Stoick’s chest. That blood was Hiccup’s.

_So much of it._

“Come up with something, Astrid. I don’t know what, but something other than the truth. I don’t think Hiccup would want anyone else knowing about this.” _I don’t want anyone else knowing about this._ Rape was a topic that could be taken in so many different ways. If people knew, there would probably be those that would blame him, those that had said he wanted it. The blood was proof that he hadn’t. He’d fought against it and paid for it, but Thor, why was there so much? What else had Dagur done to him? 

Fury raged in his blood at just the mere thought of his name, and he wanted to yell, break things, but the pain inside of him was simultaneously stealing his strength. He felt like he had the energy to run forever, but also like he was too fatigued to take a single step. So instead of yelling, he just remained sitting.

“I will,” Astrid told him. Then she and the rest of the Dragon Riders quietly left, and Stoick was left alone with his thoughts, waiting for Gothi to come and repair the physical damage that had been done to Hiccup. There was no telling what could be done about the rest.

 

All Astrid ended up telling her parents was that she’d been in battle and that none of the blood was hers. She didn’t tell them who it belonged to or how it had gotten there, and luckily they didn’t press her about it. Then she’d gone to the bathhouse despite the late hour. She was glad for the time though, glad that when she walked in there was nobody there. The water had gone cold, but she didn’t care about that either. It served to wake her up, in a sense. She’d been in a state of shock and it was helping her come out of it.

As she scrubbed away the blood, all she could think about was where all of it had come from, and how Hiccup had screamed. She tried to quiet it, to make it stop, but it only seemed to grow louder. Then her head tried to put images to it, to try to make her visualize exactly what had happened. It was gruesome and awful, but probably nothing like what had actually happened. She found herself pressing the heels of her hands to her closed eyes, almost as if she was actually seeing it and trying to make it go away. A small sound left her, a whimper, she thought, but she would never admit to it. She was Astrid Hofferson. She didn’t whimper. She didn’t feel any of the emotions that she was currently feeling. She didn’t cry, but her eyes were sore because she had. She had cried, and now she was trying her best not to do it again. 

Astrid stayed in the bath much longer than she needed to, her eyes closed, trying to erase the awful sounds from her head, trying to keep herself from fabricating terrible images. When she opened her eyes she was looking down at the water, and it was red with blood that she found herself wishing was hers.

 

Luckily Fishlegs didn’t have to answer to anybody when he went home. Both his parents were sleeping, and despite his size, he was able to sneak quietly into the house. Meatlug followed behind him, not as quiet as him, but quieter than usual. He was relieved when they made it to his bedroom. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Well, he did. He wanted to talk to Hiccup, but he couldn’t. He was soundly unconscious in his bed, probably being looked over by Gothi now. He’d see Hiccup in the morning, if Hiccup even wanted people around.

When he laid down it was like a giant weight had been relieved from him. He’d only now realized how exhausted he was. His arms were a little sore from holding Hiccup the whole way back and not moving position for fear of disturbing him or hurting him in some way.

Fishlegs let one arm stretch out, and his hand landed on Meatlug. His dragon’s presence was comforting after the night he’d had. He closed his eyes, feeling ready for sleep.

But he didn’t sleep. With the silence came Hiccup’s screams inside his head.

 

Snotlout sat at the edge of his bed, just staring down at the floorboards. He knew he should take his boots and armor off, but he didn’t feel like he had the energy to. There was no motivation to move.

He’d left Hookfang in the training arena. He doubted his father would tolerate his presence at the moment, given that he was so big. Snotlout wished he was with Hookfang though. With Hookfang he wouldn’t have to talk. 

His father had yet to return, and anxiety curdled in his stomach for when he would. Would he come to his bedroom, looking to talk to him? What words would he have for him? Would they be scathing towards him? Even worse, he feared what he would have to say about Hiccup. He didn’t know if, even after seeing him all bloodied, he truly understood what had happened, what Hiccup had gone through. Had his stance that men couldn’t be raped remained?

Snotlout couldn’t help flinching a little when he heard the front door open, then close. There were heavy footsteps on the stairs. They stopped at his bedroom, Spitelout lingering outside the door, and Snotlout looked up, steeling himself, waiting for him to open it, but then the footsteps came again, and he was moving on.

Snotlout sighed a little in relief, looked back down at the floor, his hands clasped together in his lap. He stayed like that for much longer than he should have, just thinking. Thinking and trying to mute the memory of Hiccup’s screams.

 

Tuffnut and Ruffnut found their mother awake when they returned home. They didn’t tell her much, just that they’d accomplished what they’d meant to and that they were really tired. Luckily, she didn’t press them, and let them go to their shared room.

Tuffnut flopped down onto his bed on his back, arms hanging over the sides.

“This is awful,” he said. It was an understatement, but there was nothing else to be said. This _was_ awful. There didn’t seem to be any other word that he could use to sum it up.

“Agreed.” Ruffnut laid down on her stomach, arms also hanging over the bed. She looked at Tuffnut, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to say anything. Tuffnut knew that she was wondering what they were going to do now, about Dagur and about Hiccup, wondering how Hiccup would be doing in the morning and if he would want to talk to any of them. There were so many thoughts, but Tuffnut knew all of them from her gaze, and shared them.

“I don’t know,” he said in answer to it all. He realized that his helmet was still on, and he reached up and took it off, threw it down on the floor with a clang. Ruffnut did the same. “We should just try to sleep.”

Tuffnut rolled onto his side, putting his back to her. It was a long time till he closed his eyes though. He found himself just staring at the wall. There was a sound playing inside his head, and he didn’t want to admit what it was, didn’t want to think about it. Maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it it would just stop. Maybe if he didn’t pay any attention Hiccup would just stop screaming.

 

Ruffnut knew that Tuffnut wasn’t asleep. She couldn’t sleep either. It seemed ridiculous that they were both just laying there in silence, knowing that the other was awake, and not talking to each other, but there was nothing to be said. It was strange. She usually had something to say, usually had a comment to everything, but there was nothing. This time her thoughts remained her own. Well, she was sure Tuffnut was sharing in them, but she didn’t make them known out loud. There was no reason to.

Ruffnut wondered if her friends were sleeping, or if they were all laying here like her and her brother, awake and agonizing over what had happened. It had hurt to tell Stoick that there was nothing that they could have done to stop it, and now she wondered if there really had been something, if there had been a way and they just hadn’t tried hard enough.

Even as she blamed herself, deep down she knew that there had been no saving Hiccup from that, that every scenario would have just ended with Dagur getting his way. 

Fury burst in her like a sudden fire, but she didn’t move, didn’t even clench her hands into fists like she wanted to. Her anger would have to wait. It was useless right now. Utterly useless, just like she had been when it was happening. They’d all been useless. They couldn’t have done anything. They _hadn’t_ done anything. The only thing they’d done was listen to Hiccup’s screams.

 

Dagur licked his lips, remembering the taste of Hiccup’s blood on them. There was quite a bit of it on him, and he was sure he made a fearsome sight, but he didn’t mind, because it was _Hiccup’s_ blood. 

He was a strange mixture of angry and content: angry because Hiccup’s friends had escaped and he’d had no choice but to leave, but content because he’d finally had Hiccup in the way he’d wanted him for over three years now. It seemed unreal, almost. He’d been wanting it for so long and now it had finally happened. His expectations hadn’t been too high and ruined it either, which he was grateful for. He’d known Hiccup would fight, and part of him was glad that he had. It wouldn’t be Hiccup unless he was fighting against him. That’s just how he was: always fighting him. It made it feel more fulfilling that way, knowing that he’d fought him and won, that he’d been able to take his means of fighting away from him and turn him into a begging, screaming mess. His screams were still sounding in his head, and they were lovely.

“Dagur, did you hear anything I just said?”

Right. He’d been talking to Ryker. He couldn’t just go off into his own memories and fantasies right now, though that was the only thing he really wanted to do.

“What were we discussing?” There was no point trying to pretend that he’d been paying attention. Ryker already knew he hadn’t been.

“The Skrill,” Ryker growled in frustration. “ _Your_ Skrill, that we now don’t have.”

Dagur had entirely forgotten about the Skrill. His sights had been on Hiccup, still were, even. He’d wanted to keep him after that first time, had been planning on it. Of course his friends had to go and ruin that. They ruined everything. Would he ever have Hiccup like that again?

And he was going into his own head again. He shook it a little, blinked, trying to bring himself back to where he actually was. Ryker’s cabin, across the table from him, discussing the Skrill, not Hiccup. They weren’t discussing Hiccup.

“We can get it back,” Dagur said. _And hopefully Hiccup too._

“And how would we do that?” Ryker asked. “We don’t know what the Dragon Riders did with it. They could have taken it.”

“No, that’s not like them.” Dagur stood, went to the window. “Not like Hiccup.” Then he giggled for some reason. Maybe it was just the mention of his name.

“You’re in no mood for focusing right now, are you?”

“Not really,” Dagur admitted. Once again, no point hiding it. Ryker already knew. “Mm, it was just too good. I’d been wanting to do that for such a long time.”

“Why didn’t you do it sooner?” Ryker asked with genuine curiosity.

Dagur turned back to Ryker, rolled his eyes. “Um, duh. He always has his Night Fury around. Can’t exactly have a good time when there’s a dragon ready to kill you if you come too close.”

“The dragon still ruined it.”

“Eh, only kind of. Ruined what I wanted to do with him in the future.”

“So you got to finish then?”

Dagur grinned. “Oh yeah I did.”

Ryker chuckled. “On him or in him?”

“In him, of course. Gotta claim what’s mine, you know?” Then Dagur’s grin widened as he thought of how he’d carved his initial into Hiccup’s back. He drew the knife that he’d used to do it, the same one he’d used to tear away his clothes to reveal his body to him. It had more of his blood on it. He was tempted to lick it, to just get a taste. Not caring that Ryker was there and watching him, he did. The blood was dried, so he couldn’t really tell if the metallic taste was from that or just the metal of the blade itself. As he savored the taste he wondered how Hiccup was doing, if he’d been returned home yet. He wondered how Stoick was taking it, and a cruel laugh bubbled up in his chest.

_I ruined your son, Stoick! I took him and ruined him!_

Dagur kept laughing, and Ryker did nothing to interrupt him.

 

Stoick didn’t know how he told Gothi what had happened to Hiccup without stuttering or pausing, how even got the words out of him in the first place. Then he was present when she pulled the blanket off of him, and he realized why his friends had wanted to keep it there. His clothes were gone. Just gone. The only thing on him were strips of what probably used to be his tunic wrapped around him as bandages. There was one covering a wound in his upper back between his shoulder blades, another lower, and one on his right forearm. There was blood on the backs of his legs, blood on his back and side, blood on his wrists, probably from pulling at a rope. His left wrist was bruised with black and swollen. Fishlegs had laid Hiccup down on his stomach, so there probably weren’t many wounds there - hopefully none at all. Stoick didn’t want there to be anymore wounds on Hiccup, wished that there were none and that he was fine.

He couldn’t watch Gothi do her examination of him. After that initial sight of Hiccup, he went back down the stairs and waited.

His waiting was interrupted by a familiar knock at the door. Stoick didn’t want to answer it, but he knew who was on the other side, and he knew he couldn’t just not let him in. Hel, maybe having a friend here would be better for him.

Stoick stood and went to the door, his footsteps dragging. 

“Heya, chief,” Gobber greeted him when he opened the door. “Saw that the Riders came back so I wanted to see how it went.” He seemed a little cheerful, but that faltered when he saw the solemn look on Stoick’s face. “Oh no. What happened? Who’s hurt?”

“Come on inside, Gobber.” Stoick stepped away from the door so his friend could enter. “Gothi’s with Hiccup right now.”

Gobber came inside and closed the door, looked up towards the loft. “What happened?”

Stoick didn’t know how he was going to bring himself to say it again, but it was better he told Gobber rather than Hiccup. Gobber was one of the people that had to know what happened, one of the people he couldn’t possibly keep it a secret from.

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to say it again. Saying it only made it seem more real, and he didn’t need it to be any more real after he’d seen Hiccup bloody and naked. Gods, he was naked, and there was just so much blood.

“Stoick, what is it?” Gobber pressed. “Will Hiccup be alright? What happened?”

“I don’t know if he’ll be alright, Gobber,” Stoick answered tiredly. “He’ll live, but it’s hard to say if he’ll be alright.”

“Chief, you’re killing me. Please tell me what happened.” Gobber’s brow was furrowed in worry.

“Hiccup was… raped.” The word fell like a stone into the silence, and of course silence was what followed. There was nothing else that could follow that.

Gobber’s eyes went big. “ _What?_ ”

Stoick only nodded. He turned, went to the table, and sat. He didn’t feel like he had the strength to remain standing anymore.

“By who?!” There was rage in Gobber’s voice, pain and confusion.

“Dagur.”

More silence, but then: “That son of a- I ought to break his neck!”

“Gobber, quiet down. We don’t want to disturb him.”

“He’s sleeping?” The question was a little incredulous.

“The Riders brought him back unconscious,” Stoick answered. “I don’t know what did it. Might have been blood loss. There’s…” He had to pause, feeling like he was choking on something. “There’s so much blood, Gobber.” His voice cracked on the word “blood”, and he realized what he was feeling in his throat was the impending ache of tears. 

Gobber didn’t say anything, came around the table to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Only then, with his closest friend’s hand on his shoulder, did Stoick allow himself to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a month later and here it is! Sorry! I had finals and stuff with school, and then a lovely bout of depression that may or may not still be bothering me. Then of course my computer’s charger had to go and stop working and it took me forever to actually buy the right one. But yep, here it is!

Hiccup didn’t want to wake up. He kept his eyes closed, trying to will himself back into unconsciousness, but there was no way sleep would come again. Anxiety was twisting and curdling with a heat in his stomach, roping upwards towards his heart to start it racing, leaking into his limbs as small tremors, parting his lips and making his breaths rush. His breaths hurt, or at least, they hurt his wounds, pulling at the stab wound in his side and the rune carved into his back. There was pain in other places too: his right forearm, his left wrist, and then another pain that made his stomach twist all the more fiercely for it - a pain _inside_ of him, in his lower abdomen, in his… He couldn’t bear to think about it, couldn’t bear to think about why he was hurting like this.

He’d been laying on his stomach, but now he curled himself onto his left side and brought his knees up, making sure his blanket stayed on him. He knew he was home, on Berk, and that meant that his dad knew, and that he’d probably seen too. The thought of it made him feel like he was going to be sick, and his breaths, now coming in panicked gasps, were interrupted by a whimper.

Shame dug into him along with the anxiety and the panic. His dad knew. He knew that he’d been raped, been used for someone else’s pleasure. Did he know who had done it to him? Had his friends told him that? 

Hiccup suddenly felt very weak, very stupid. He doubted he would have were it just the knife wounds he had sustained. He felt like he should have been able to do something about it, like he hadn’t tried hard enough to stop it. It shouldn’t have happened. Dagur shouldn’t have been able to cut his clothes off of him and just take him like that. And gods, he was _still_ naked, and so he pulled the blanket tighter around him. He wanted to get up, get dressed, but that would make noise, alert his dad that he was awake, and that would mean talking. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to have other people around him. He just wanted to somehow curl up tighter and wait till he ceased to exist, till the virulent emotions storming inside of him took him and made him nothing. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut tighter and will himself away into death. That would be the easiest course of action, the best one. 

He realized that wanting to die was an awful thing, but at least he didn’t want to kill himself. Wanting to die and wanting to kill oneself were two different things. One required action on his part, required courage and motivation that he didn’t have. The other just entailed laying there and thinking and wishing. It was a torment to be stuck between those, to not want to live anymore but to not want to actively put an end to living. It was a terrible, crushing thing that seemed inescapable, the want to live so far away, out of his reach even if he did want to reach for it. He was floating on his back in endless black water, unable to escape it, but also unable to just submerge his head and drown himself. He was stuck like that, waiting for something to pull him out or push him under and hold him there till he stopped moving.

Hiccup sobbed. It came out unexpectedly, and so, much louder than he would have wanted it to. It was hoarse and it hurt his throat, wracked his body that didn’t need anymore battering. He tightly clamped his jaw shut, another one aching in his throat, building and pressing to be released. Despite his best efforts it came out, also loud. Then he heard movement downstairs, large footsteps coming towards the stairs, his dad.

_No, no, no, why do you have to cry?_ he asked himself in frustration. _You already did enough of this._

As his dad ascended the stairs, Hiccup lowered his head and pulled his blanket over it. He just wanted to hide from everything. A sob clamored away at his clenched jaw, trying to part his lips, but it retreated and died in his throat, which resulted in a strange choking noise. His father reached the top of the stairs.

“Hiccup?”

He didn’t know what to say, how to respond. He didn’t want to say anything. Another sob tried to get out, but he choked on that too.

Footsteps coming towards his bed. A sound came out of him that may have been a whimper, and it made him realize how pathetic he must seem, cowering under his blanket and crying. He was a man for Thor’s sake! Not some child! He was stronger than this! He had to be!

“Hiccup, how are you feeling?” The question was tentative, and if it had come from someone but Stoick the Vast, Hiccup would have said he sounded scared even. 

“D-do you know w-what happened?” His voice was hoarse, the words scraping in his throat. He wanted to remove the blanket from his head, to look his father in the eye while he spoke to him like he should, but he couldn’t. It stayed put and hid the tears streaming down his face, but Stoick probably knew that he was crying anyway.

“I do.” He said it resignedly, heavily. 

“A-and you know who?” 

“Aye.” It wasn’t angry like Hiccup had expected - just tired, like he hadn’t slept. Hiccup couldn’t blame him for not expressing anger at the moment. He didn’t feel like he himself had the energy to feel anger. He was just hurting, hurting bad. It sounded like his father was too. That solidarity gave him the courage to peek his head out from under the blanket.

Hiccup looked at his father, saw the concern and fatigue on his face, but then drew his eyes away, shame once again beating at him with iron fists. He didn’t know what to say, so he asked a completely unrelated question:

“Where’s Toothless?”

“Outside with Skullcrusher. I didn’t want him bothering you.”

“Let him in. I want to see him.”

“Son, I think we should talk first.” Stoick moved around the other side of his bed, out of sight, and there was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. He’d dragged over the chair from his desk to sit. There was no getting out of this.

Hiccup pushed himself up into a sitting position, and though he wanted to he couldn’t hold in a groan at the pain it caused him. The blanket fell away from his upper half, revealing bandages around his torso. His right forearm and left wrist were bandaged as well. He didn’t try to look at his father this time, instead looked down at his hands.

“A-about what?” His throat ached. He wanted to cry, _scream_. Emotions were pounding away at his chest, but he was forcing his tears to slow, hoping they would eventually stop. He couldn’t cry in front of his father. “You know what- know what happened. There’s n-nothing more to talk- to talk about.”

“I want to know how you’re feeling.”

“H-how do you think I’m feeling?” The words came out nastily, and Hiccup hadn’t meant them to. “Sorry. I just…” Did he have the words to tell his father how he was feeling? Did Hiccup even truly know how he was feeling? 

“It’s alright, Hiccup.” Stoick’s tone was patient. He reached over, placed a hand on his shoulder, and Hiccup knew the touch was supposed to be reassuring, but it didn’t feel that way. All it did was make him flinch, and then the hand was gone. 

“Sorry,” he said again. He would have explained, but he didn’t know how. Why wasn’t he okay with his own father’s touch? It wasn’t him who had hurt him. “I…” He wiped at his face, then decided to put it as bluntly and simply as he could. “I feel like shit.”

His words were met with silence, and his anxiety returned. What would his dad say? Would he say nothing at all? What was there to say?

“That’s… to be expected. I’m so sorry this happened to you, Hiccup.” Hiccup couldn’t remember a time where he’d heard him sound so heartbroken, and he actually looked up, met his eyes. He’d feared seeing judgment in them, but there was none. His father was hurting, hurting for him, and he didn’t judge him for it, didn’t see him as any less because of it.

“I-I wish it hadn’t. I wish I could have done something differently, d-done something to stop it.”

“Hiccup, you sound as if you think it’s your fault.”

“It…” He looked back to his hands. “It is.”

“Hiccup, what do you-?”

“I was trying to get the Skrill off my back, so I led it to a Hunter ship,” Hiccup began to explain. “I had planned for them to subdue it and then I would swoop in and grab it, but I wasn’t able to and they got it. So I went back to the Edge, grabbed everybody, and we went after them. They captured us and Dagur…” It hurt to say his name, like he had his knife in him again. “H-he saw the chance and he took it.” He clenched his right hand into a fist. He wanted to do the same with his left but the pain from his wrist was radiating into his fingers. “And he wouldn’t have had the chance if I hadn’t been stupid enough to get the Hunters involved in the first place.”

“Hiccup…” Stoick sounded flabbergasted. “It was Dagur that made that choice, not you! You can’t blame yourself for his actions!”

“But I shouldn’t have even been there!” he cried in distress, whipping his head towards Stoick. How could he not see that this was his fault? “I should have just stayed away from the Hunters and stayed away from him! _Especially_ him!”

“Hiccup, you couldn’t have known he would-”

“But I _did_ know he would if he ever got the chance! I did know! And I was too stupid and confident in myself to think that he ever would get that chance! I thought I would always win! I thought… I thought I was better than this.” He said that last part quieter, his tears welling up again. 

“What do you mean you knew?” There was a horrified curiosity to Stoick’s words.

“He… he said things.” Hiccup looked away again. He wished his gaze could just stay in one place, wished he had the strength to just keep his eyes on his father’s. He wiped at his face again, at the tears that were again falling freely. “And he touched me.”

“He _touched_ you?” 

“Not-not badly. Just an arm around me or a-a hand on my chest.” There had been that one time where he’d had his lips on his face, but he wasn’t going to tell him about that. Hiccup shuddered, feeling as if he once again had Dagur’s hands on him, had his body pressed into his. He wished it could have just remained as simple as an arm around him, that it hadn’t gone any further. “I-I didn’t like it, but it didn’t cross too much of a line.”

“Hiccup, the _instant_ you don’t like someone touching you is the instant it crosses a line,” Stoick told him firmly. “Especially if you tell them that and they don’t stop.”

“I-I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t. He was so much- _is_ so much bigger than me.”

“Was?”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Hiccup said hurriedly, realizing what his father was about to question. He didn’t want him to ask, didn’t want this conversation to go further.

“How long ago did this start?”

“I said ‘was’ by mistake, okay?” He tried to give Stoick a hard look, to tell him to drop it, but his tears no doubt ruined it. 

“Hiccup, how long has this been going on?”

Hiccup closed his eyes, lowered his head in defeat. “Three years.”

“Three… _three years?!_ ”

“It’s not that long since he was in prison for most of it,” Hiccup said, hoping to diffuse it. Three years really did sound like a long time, but Dagur hadn’t been around for most of it.

“This started three years ago and you never told anyone?!”

“What… what was I supposed to say? I-I was scared, dad!” Hiccup shook his head. “W-was I supposed to- supposed to tell you that I spent almost an entire night in th-the woods with him hunting Toothless? And that he touched me and h-held me and kissed my face? And that he s-said he couldn’t stop thinking about me and that he _felt_ something for me?! Was I supposed to tell you that we were at war with him because of me?! Because he couldn’t stand it that I’d lied to him and rejected him?! Is that what you would have wanted to hear?!” Hiccup’s voice had risen to a yell, and he was breathing hard after, sobs breaking into his gasps. He’d never said any of this before, had never told anyone what had truly happened that night on Dragon Island. Stoick didn’t say anything, and somehow Hiccup found himself continuing, all these strange emotions he’d been feeling for so long finally bursting free from him.

“And the whole damn time he called me his brother! He _still_ calls me that! He called me that while… I don’t get it, dad! I don’t get it, I don’t get it!”

Suddenly his father’s arms were around him, and Hiccup didn’t flinch at the touch. He leaned into it, pressed his face into his chest. His voice came loose from him in sobs and wails, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed of it. It hurt his throat, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t need to stop. He needed to let it out. He’d kept all of this inside for much too long, and after what had happened the night before, who was going to blame him for crying?

His dad didn’t let go of him even after it was over, and Hiccup was grateful for that. He just leaned against him, breathing heavily, eyes sore and his wounds burning. The one on his back hurt the most. He knew, reasonably, it was really the one in his side, but that didn’t have the same meaning as this one did. He wondered if his dad had seen it, if he knew it was there. 

Then his stomach bottomed out. Certainly that didn’t count as- It couldn’t- He was still his own person, right?

“Dad?” His voice was quiet, and he was trembling. He was afraid to ask.

“Yes, Hiccup?”

“It doesn’t- A knife wound- He would have needed to use a-” He couldn’t get his words together.

“Hiccup, slow down. What do you mean?” Stoick tensed.

Hiccup turned his head to rest the side of his face against Stoick’s chest. He was frightened to bring it up, to know the answer if it wasn’t the one he wanted.

“Dagur, he… Did you see what he did to my back?”

“Not specifically,” Stoick answered. “There was a lot of blood. What are you trying to get at?”

“He… carved his initial into me,” Hiccup finally got out. “That doesn’t count as a- I’m not… _branded_ , right?”

“No, Hiccup, you’re not.” Hiccup felt his father’s muscles loosen with relief. “It’s a valid concern, but he would have had to have burned it into you for it to count.” He rubbed one large hand over his back, below his bandages, and the feeling was comforting. “You’re your own person. You’re not his.”

Hiccup almost began to cry again just out of pure relief. He’d been worried that by carving his initial into him that Dagur had claimed legal ownership of him. It would have stripped away all his status, would have made him unable to be Stoick’s heir, and worst of all, it would have made him Dagur’s. He was beyond glad it didn’t count, and was also glad that his concern about it hadn’t been swept away, that his dad had told him it was valid. He didn’t feel stupid for worrying or asking about it. He hated that it was in him, would leave a scar (and probably a permanent one at that), but at least it didn’t strip him of anything and make him nothing. Dagur had momentarily stripped him of his rights and his dignity and his clothes, but he hadn’t stripped him of his personage. He was still belonging to himself. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” Hiccup breathed. 

Stoick held him for a little longer, and Hiccup calmed greatly in that time. He was home. He was safe. Dagur was a long ways away from him.

His father eventually pulled away, and Hiccup shivered a little in the absence of his body heat. “Do you want to hear what Gothi said? Well, you know, scribbled with Gobber translating?”

Hiccup thought for a moment. So Gobber had been here too. He knew about it. It made sense. His dad would have wanted his best friend to be with him. He nodded.

Stoick drew in a deep breath before speaking. “Well, um, your left wrist is fractured, and that cut on your right arm needed stitches. She didn’t say much about the one on your back, just that we have to keep it clean and bandaged. The one on your side is a nasty piece of work, though she said it had already been cauterized.”

“Yeah.” Hiccup lightly touched a hand to his side. “Spitelout did that. I wouldn’t have… made it if he hadn’t.” He held in a shudder at the memory. At the time, his mind had conjured up the image of Dagur, had made it seem like he was the one who had been doing it, but now he knew that it had been Spitelout, that he’d been terrified and hallucinating from the loss of blood. 

“From what she could tell it looked like you’d been stabbed, but she said it didn’t hit anything important,” Stoick explained.

“Yeah, I was stabbed,” Hiccup answered hoarsely. _And then he kept the knife in the whole time he was…_ He almost wanted to say it, but he couldn’t. 

“And your other injuries are, um…” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Your throat’s bruised and, uh…”

“Y-you don’t have to say the other one,” Hiccup got out quickly. He knew he’d been torn. It was overly obvious that he had been. That’s why it had hurt so much, why he had bled. Though, he did stop to run a hand over his throat, and he looked away after. Bruised. Stoick probably knew what that meant, knew that Dagur had had his… “I would have bitten him.” He didn’t want his dad to think that he hadn’t fought, that he’d just let it happen to him. Bruises in his throat made it look like he’d just opened his mouth and let him do it. “But he- I had to. H-he had the knife against my neck.” Great, he felt like he was going to start crying again. He doubted he had any tears left though. “I-I had to. He would have-”

“Hiccup, calm down.” Stoick’s hand was on his shoulder, and he let it stay there. “Take a deep breath.”

Hiccup nodded, did as he was told, his breath shuddering, but he felt better once he’d done it.

“Listen, you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. I know you fought as best you could. You wouldn’t have all these injuries otherwise.”

“I just- I don’t want anyone to think that I let it happen to me.”

“I know you didn’t.” Stoick gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Your friends know you didn’t. And even if you hadn’t fought, it still wouldn’t have been your fault. Sometimes when fear takes you, you just can’t do anything.”

Hiccup nodded. He hadn’t known what words to expect from his father on the matter, but they were good ones, probably the best he could hope to hear. He blamed himself for it, but at least his father didn’t. Still, he had to ask:

“You don’t think any less of me for it?”

“Hiccup, of course not!” He took him by both his shoulders. “Look at me.”

Hiccup did, and the look in Stoick’s eyes was so heartfelt and so endearing that he felt all the tension and worry leaking out of him.

“This was an act of violence committed against you and by Odin, of _course_ I don’t think less of you for it. The only person I’m thinking less of is Dagur. Well, not that I thought very highly of him in the first place, but you get my point. I still love you, Hiccup. I still see you as my son and heir.” There looked to be tears in his eyes, but Hiccup quickly denied it. His dad didn’t cry. “If anything I think _more_ highly of you, because you endured and you will endure.”

Hiccup didn’t know what to do with these words. It was rare that his father ever said things like this to him. He knew that he loved him, but it wasn’t often said.

“Well, you know-” One side of his mouth upturned in half a smile- “I’ve got stubbornness issues.”

Stoick smiled, clapped one shoulder. “That you do, son. That you do.”


End file.
